


In His Defense

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request: I've always loved the idea of the smaller person picking a fight and quickly being overtaken by the stronger, and just when the stronger person tries to gloat... tiny one HEADBUTTS THEM IN THE JAW AND KEEPS GOING. You think you wouldnt mind doing another "reader defends Jask's honor" where the reader is 90 lbs of unbridled rage, like an infuriated kitten?
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Kudos: 18





	In His Defense

As days went, this one was about par for the course. You’d been working at the tavern for a couple of months now and it wasn’t unusual for a travelling bard to pop by in the hopes of earning some coin. Some of them were received very well, others not so much. The first time the crowd had turned especially ugly on a performer you’d been horrified and complained to the owner that something had to be done to make sure that at the very least they weren’t pelted with food. The owner had dismissed you, stating they all knew how this worked, bards and patrons alike, and to keep passing out ale and keeping your nose down. You’d done just that but it was wearing on you quickly and you knew you were just one more rude patron from snapping.

You were immediately worried when the bard came through the door. First of all, his clothes made him stand out like a sore thumb. Then there was his somewhat foppish posturing and way of talking that amused and, if you were totally honest, somewhat charmed you but put the rest of the people off. When he performed you could tell he had great talent and hoped that may keep people calm and for the most part it did. Until it didn’t.

“Fuck off!” a voice cried from the crowd. You knew the it well. He was one of the regulars, always an ass to you and the other staff and the first to try and start a fight.

“Oy!” you snapped, “Listen quietly or feel free to leave.”

You couldn’t tell who was more surprised, the bard or the man. It bought you some quiet though and the bard quickly continued performing his song, a bawdy number about a fishmonger’s daughter that you knew you’d have stuck in your head for ages.

“You can pull on this horn!” the same man yelled, gesturing crudely.

“One more outburst and you’re out of here,” you warned. You could feel your face growing hot with ill-concealed rage at his rudeness and at the way the man smirked as though you were a gnat he could just swipe away or ignore. The bard played through your yelling and you prayed his song would end soon. His voice rose in the final notes and a chunk of bread sailed through the air and thwapped him right in the nose.

“Right that’s it,” you heard yourself say as you hurled yourself over the bar and stormed over to the man who’d thrown it. He hardly registered you until you punched his shoulder to get his attention.

“Get out and don’t come back,” you demanded. You knew he was taller than you even sitting but when he stood and hovered a good foot above you, some part of you, some much more logical part knew you should be scared. But that part wasn’t in control right now.

“You need to mind your manners,” he said.

“Hey now you really don’t,” you hear the bard saying but you grip the man’s collar and surprise both of you again when you’re able to wrench him towards the door before he gets his bearings and halts your progress.

“Alright I was trying to be a gentleman but I guess there’s only one way to teach you respect,” the man says and swings a heavy palm towards your face. You dodge it but the attempt cuts through that final strand tethering you to your sanity and you leap at him, fists colliding with nose and chin and chest. He swears and you feel two strong arms capture your shoulders, lifting you off the ground and shaking you like a ragdoll.

“Now,” he says, pausing when you stop swinging at him, “You know bet-”

His words are cut off as you headbutt him in the jaw and he drops you. You fall to the ground in a heap, not sure if the blood running down your forehead is from you or him. He roars and stumbles a bit, disoriented by the attack, and you rise back up and shove him towards the doors. He tries to right himself and swipe for you again but you parry his arm and land a punch in his gut so quickly and so hard you knock the air out of him for a moment.

“Have. Some. Manners. You. Horse’s. Arse,” your words are punctuated by your fists but he finally seizes one of your hands, capturing your tiny fist in his very large one that he begins to twist, sending shooting pain up your arm. It’s reaching the point where you know if he keeps twisting it’s going to break when there is a loud crack and the fist loosens. You pull back and then look up just in time for the man to fall to the ground unconscious. Standing behind him is the bard, his beautiful lute broken in half and dangling from his hands. He looks at you with wide eyes full of surprise and concern and you wipe at your face, blood rubbing off on your hand as you do.

“You’re fired,” you hear the owner call.

“I quit,” you yell back, not sure what you would do but knowing anything would be better than working for someone who stood idly by in the face of bastardry. You nod at the bard and wince when you try to move your wrenched arm. You head out the door, stepping over the felled man as you do. You’ve only just crossed the threshold of the tavern when the bard stops you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyeing your forehead and face and glancing down at your already purpling wrist.

“Oh yeah, occupational hazard and all that,” you answer glibly.

“It was very noble of you to defend me but I fear it’s come at a great cost to your health as well as your livelihood,” he says, gesturing to the tavern.

“It wasn’t right for him to yell those things. You’re a beautiful performer you know. I mean, your music is beautiful,” you say and you hope he doesn’t notice the blush that comes over your face at the slip.

“I’m Jaskier,” he says, extending a hand and then awkwardly retracting it as he realizes your arm is too hurt to shake.

“Y/N,” you say with a little nod, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Is there a healer nearby? Somewhere I can take you?” he asks, walking by your side as you begin to set off down the road.

“I’ll deal with it,” you say bravely though you’re trying very hard not to cry from the stinging.

“I have a better idea. I have a companion, he’s currently away but he should be returning by nightfall. He could heal you and then you could travel with us until we find you a new place of employ, one more deserving of you,” Jaskier suggests. From anyone else you would immediately dismiss the offer, believing they were only making it out of obligation, but there is genuine eagerness in Jaskier’s eyes and you can tell that he means it.

“Ok,” you relent. You tell yourself that you’re excited at the prospect of a qualified healer helping you instead of your own fumbling attempts and the opportunity to travel and find better work than you’ve been left with in this tiny shithole town. You tell yourself that it has nothing to do with getting to spend more time with the handsome bard who would break his instrument to help protect you and thought you were deserving of better things. Who even in this brief time you’d known him, made you feel like you should want more for yourself.

“Excellent! Now, first things first,” he says and pulls off his doublet revealing a very fine undershirt below, allowing you to see the shape of his surprisingly muscular frame as he twists the garment in his hands into something more like a rope.

“Now hold still, I will be gentle but it may hurt a little,” he says as he gingerly lifts the arm with the injured wrist and wraps the doublet around it, tying it around your neck.

“What is this then?” you ask, distracted by the sudden closeness of him and the way his arms wrapped around you as he adjusted the makeshift sling.

“That will keep it steady so it doesn’t swing around as we walk. And I think we may want to do that soon because that man won’t be asleep forever and I only had the one lute,” Jaskier explains. You walk together towards the edge of the village and an unknown future that you can already tell will be filled with plenty more excitement.


End file.
